Veegree And The Turnip Bird
by Yrin Thornbrook
Summary: First story in the Once Upon A Time In The Underground series. A short story about a goblin, a weird bird, and some fairly disturbing food.


This is the original _Once Upon A Time In The Underground_ story, which I thought I had lost when my life got crazy and my email account was deactivated due to disuse. The lovely Marysia had it archived on her site, though, so I was able to retrieve it. And here it is, slightly edited. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I were quite a few years younger, I might claim to be the reincarnation of Jim Henson and therefore to have some right to the characters and places in _Labyrinth_. Unfortunately, since I was a teenager when he died, the claim really wouldn't hold water. Point being, Labyrinth's not mine, and I won't even try to convince you differently.

Once Upon A Time In The Underground:

Veegree And The Turnip Bird

By Yrin Thornbrook

Once upon a time in the Goblin City, there lived an old goblin woman called Veegree. She raised turnips in a shabby little garden patch behind her shabby little house. She would let the turnips grow and grow, until they were just past the point where they were any good for eating. Then she dug them up and boiled them in a huge pot for two and a half weeks. During the boiling process, she threw in bits of this and that—vegetables, lizard skins, cat whiskers—and occasionally she would let the pot cool, put on spike-soled shoes, and mash the turnips up with her feet. Then she set the pot to boiling again.

At the end of the two and a half weeks, Veegree would take a smaller pot and a big wooden spoon and walk out her front door into the narrow street. There she banged on the pot with all her might and hollered at the top of her lungs "Turnips! TU-U-U-URnips! TurNIPS!" All her neighbors heard, as Veegree was gifted with very powerful lungs for her age and size. They dropped whatever they were doing and rushed over to Veegree's house with bowls, pans, jars, flower pots, and even rusty army helmets. Veegree ladeled the turnip mash into the assorted containers and accepted the payment they brought her.

Only a few paid with actual money. Most brought odds and ends: shiny agate stones, bags of bent nails, fireflies in jars, a dead crow on a string, a snake's skeleton. Veegree preferred these things to money, anyway. It wasn't as if there was much to buy in the Goblin City, and the tidbits her customers brought her could usually find a home in the next batch of turnip mash.

It should probably be noted that Veegree's friends and neighbors were not actually that fond of turnips. In fact, they rarely ate the mash at all. It generally sat around in some corner of the house until they needed whatever container it was stored in. Then they would dump it out somewhere, or feed it to the chickens, who wouldn't eat it either. Really, getting the turnip mash was more of a social event. Or just something to do.

One sunny morning, Veegree was sitting just outside her back door, brushing the cat and speculating that she had best dig up the turnips tomorrow afternoon. She didn't have a brush, so she was using one of her spike-soled shoes to battle the matted knots of cat fur. Between escape attempts, the cat emitted ear-splitting yowls, but since Veegree was a bit deaf, she paid little attention. She was humming tunelessly to herself (a sound slightly less soothing than the ones coming from the cat) when the shoe spikes suddenly caught fast in a nasty tangle. Apparently the cat had found tar someplace or other. Veegree pulled and tugged, but to no avail, and the cat, unwilling to stand for any more of this sort of thing, gave a terrific squirm, popped out of her hands, and bolted, taking the spiked shoe with it.

Veegree blinked in dismay. How could she mash her turnips now? The prospect of hopping up and down on one foot in a big pot of turnip mash did not appeal to her. Her balance had never been particularly good. Likewise, her problem solving skills—actually, most of her mental abilities—were nothing to brag about, so she sat on the rock until the sun sank into the hills on the horizon, pondering her problem. By

sunset, however, it was all she could do to _remember_ what she had been thinking of in the first place.

Gradually, Veegree became aware of something. And slowly, she came to realize what she had become aware of. And eventually, she comprehended what she had realized. And finally, she found that a strange creature was sitting not five feet away from her, and watching her with beady eyes. It was some kind of bird, she concluded after a while. It had a wide, triangular beak, a long neck, scraggly gray-green feathers, and long skinny legs that ended in large, three-clawed feet. As she watched, it scratched at the earth with those sharp claws until it uprooted a turnip. It took a smooth step back, and started scratching again, keeping its yellowish-purple eyes on her all the time.

It continued down the row, digging up each turnip. As its body moved, its head stayed in exactly the same place. Its neck stretched and stretched, until it reached the end of the row and started back up the next one. It dug up the entire garden in a matter of minutes. It stopped right in front of Veegree and slowly reeled in its head until it was looking down at her from only a few inches away. Veegree looked at the bird, still a bit surprised, then down at the ground, where a large turnip lay.

Veegree bent down to pick up the turnip. The bird's eyes gleamed, and it squawked a small, ugly squawk.

Two days later, one of Veegree's neighbors stopped by to borrow some snails. A sort of squawking sound answered her knock, and she went on in. Veegree was puttering about the kitchen as usual, but the neighbor _did_ notice one or two odd things. First, a very strange-looking bird was hopping around in the huge turnip pot, its head remaining motionless as its body moved about. She wasn't quite sure she liked the way it watched her with its dull black eyes. Second, Vegree herself seemed a little. . . off. Perhaps it was the gray-green feathers sticking out from under her cap. Or maybe the way her eyes seemed a bit more beadily yellowish-purple than usual when she handed over the box of snails.

The neighbor mentioned the strange things to her other friends later that day, and for two and a half weeks a few rumors circulated, but they were soon forgotten when turnip day arrived. Veegree banged her pot as usual, and if her voice sounded a bit more, well, _squawky_ than normal, no one remembered it after the turnip mash was distributed. They all agreed that this was the best mash ever, surpassing all previous batches by its outstanding edibility! The only person who complained was an old fellow who had been using the turnip mash as mortar to repair a brick wall in his garden. This new recipe, he claimed, just didn't set up as well.

Everyone else, however, was satisfied. That is, until the following autumn, when both Veegree and the strange bird suddenly vanished. One or two goblins claimed to have seen them flying south, but most decided they had gone in search of higher quality turnips, and would return some day.

And perhaps they will. . . .

The End


End file.
